


Twelve Years

by mystivy



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 21:19:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6394249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystivy/pseuds/mystivy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Author name change from niennah!)</p><p>It's been twelve years, and then a chance moment on a Monte Carlo street finally brings them together.  In response to a fic prompt: "I have you shoved against the wall but now I can’t stop looking at your mouth."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twelve Years

**Author's Note:**

> The rest of the prompts are at my Tumblr, [here](http://heather-in-the-mist.tumblr.com/post/141762734288/right-to-the-good-parts-prompt-list). Please follow if you like! The more tennis, the better. Also my Twitter is [here](https://twitter.com/mystivy). :)

The car comes out of nowhere, a sleek Jaguar, silent except for the rumble on the cobblestones, and it’s just a matter of reflex to push Rafa against the wall. It’s close, too; the car veers up on the footpath before skidding down again and on along the nightlit side street, leaving nothing in its wake but the two of them still pressed together, frozen, the echo of its horn still blaring in their ears. Rafa’s eyes are wide and Roger’s arms are braced around him, palms against the old sun-baked stone. As if he could protect him with his body alone. As if he’d let himself be crushed just to save Rafa.

God, he realises. That’s what he was thinking. He would.

“Rogi,” says Rafa, breathlessly. At some point his hands had ended up on Roger’s waist, a strong grip, pulling Roger against him.

“Shit, Rafa,” says Roger. His head is still swirling with it. Maybe it was the one glass of champagne he’d had at the Players’ Party at the Grand Casino making him feel so suddenly dizzy. He had slipped out when things began to get raucous and discovered, meeting him in the courtyard, that Rafa had the same idea. They fell into step beside each other as they decided to walk back to the hotel rather than take a car. 

“This way,” Rafa had said, taking his hand briefly to direct him towards a path to a small gate at the side of the Casino complex. “Nice walk, no? We walk by the sea.” Then, before they even got to the seafront, down a small side street that Rafa said he knew, the car.

And now this. As each second ticks by, the car is further away and there is less and less reason for his body to be pressed against Rafa’s. And yet Roger doesn’t back away and Rafa doesn’t let go. Their chests rise and fall, breath still ragged, maybe from the shock, maybe from something else. Roger’s arms soften, curl, until he’s holding Rafa’s shoulders in his palms.

And Rafa’s mouth. His gorgeous, soft mouth, slightly open, the sheen of amber streetlights on his lip. Roger can hardly tear his eyes away. 

“Rogi,” says Rafa again, and this time his breathlessness has nothing to do with panic or danger and everything to do with this feeling between them, this magnetism that is finally becoming unbearable.

“I’ve been so careful, Rafa,” says Roger, in a whisper.

“What?” says Rafa, frowning a little. “Careful of cars?”

Roger laughs. “No. So careful to never end up alone like this with you.” He pushes a strand of hair back behind Rafa’s ear and cradles his jaw in his hand. Rubs a thumb over his cheek. “I knew it would be too dangerous.”

A quirk of a smile on that mouth now. “Dangerous?” repeats Rafa. “What you mean, Rogi?” He presses his hips forward a little, relaxing into Roger’s arms. Sliding his hands all the way around his waist until he’s holding him entirely.

“You know exactly what I mean,” says Roger, and he leans in and presses his mouth to Rafa’s.

A kiss. Such a kiss. Hardly anything at first, just the press of lips. Then open-mouthed, hungry, more and more. Rafa groans into it and Roger feels it vibrate in his chest. Rafa is grabbing him, as if he can pull him closer, and Roger is holding Rafa’s face in his hands as if he will never let him go. They melt into it, against each other, sagging against the wall.

Then a sweep of headlights, a shock of reality, and they pull apart and duck their heads. “Shit,” says Roger, his hands now hiding his own face rather than holding Rafa’s. Rafa slouches and turns away from the lights. As if he is not instantly recognisable, thinks Roger. As if he doesn’t glow.

The car passes on and silence falls again. They catch each other’s eyes and smile shyly. “Twelve years, Raf,” says Roger, fondly. “Twelve years I’ve resisted doing that.”

“Twelve years, I want you to,” says Rafa. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Maybe more.” He’s still leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, scuffing the toe of his dress shoe against the ground. His gaze licking up at Roger. Everything about him is seductive. The look in his eyes, the suggestive jut of his hips, the cut of his suit on his muscular figure.

“You want to do it again?” says Roger.

Rafa’s smile widens. “Yes,” he says, with conviction.

“Then let’s go,” says Roger. He can’t keep the impatience out of his voice. He’s aching to hold Rafa again, desperate to touch more of him. All of him.

“I take you to my room, Rogi?” says Rafa, nudging him with his shoulder as they turn and walk together, their pace faster now. In time with Roger’s thudding heart.

“You better,” he says. “My wife is an understanding woman, but I think she’d draw the line if I brought you to mine.”

Rafa’s laugh echoes in the street as they walk on, side by side, towards the hotel.


End file.
